The excuse was so familiar it barely registered.
Five years ago, he had said the same thing.
Cash flow problems. The company needed funds.
I believed him. I voluntarily stopped my father's targeted therapy and handed over every cent of our savings.
Then I traced the bank withdrawal to an address, and the door I pushed open led to a luxury apartment.
The young college girl was wearing nothing but an apron hanging loosely off her shoulders.
She came out of the kitchen carrying a plate, picked up a piece of food with her chopsticks, and fed it to Jesse with a smile.
In that moment, every light in my world went out.
When I still didn't respond, Jesse began slapping himself again, wild, frenzied, over and over.
The sharp cracks echoed through the empty living room.
"Lucretia, hit me. Scream at me. Do whatever you want. Just don't shut me out."
He cupped my face with trembling hands, took a cotton swab from the first-aid kit, and dabbed at the blood on my cheek, bit by bit.
His touch was feather-light, as though he were handling something irreplaceable.
But minutes ago, those same hands had pinned me to the floor.
He changed me into clean clothes, then hauled me to his office without asking.
The building blazed with light despite the late hour. Everyone inside moved with urgent purpose.
When Jesse walked in with me at his side, every head turned.
A senior executive hurried over. "Mr. Gilbert, you're back? I thought you said your wife wasn't feeling well and you were heading home to be with her."
Envious glances drifted our way.
"Seriously, Mrs. Gilbert, you're so lucky."
"We're in the most critical phase of the project, and Mr. Gilbert still leaves on time every single day just to go home to you."
I listened without expression as Jesse half-carried me into his office.
The office was spotless. Not a single trace of a woman's presence anywhere.
But his desk, his bookshelves, were covered in photographs of me. Every stage of my life, framed and displayed.
Jesse settled me onto the couch, his voice so soft it practically dripped honey.
"Lucretia, trust me. Once this project wraps up, I'll fly in the best specialists from overseas to operate on your dad."
He picked up the office phone.
"I'll have my secretary pull the security footage right now. That lipstick mark was from a colleague who bumped into me during a meeting today. It was an accident."
I reached over and pressed the phone down.